Walk Through It
by Ginger6
Summary: A pretender out in the cold.


Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not earning a penny here, please don't sue.  
  
Walk Through It  
  
By Ginger  
  
No matter how hard I try, I never seem to get it right. We never seem to get it right. This time, I thought it would be different. We came so close on that island, so damned close, and I detected a DEFINITE change in her demeanor afterwards. And, this time, it wasn't just wishful thinking on my part. When she said she hoped I'd find my mother, she sounded like she really meant it. And I wasn't hearing things: she did say our LIFE and our FUTURE, singular not plural. Once might have been a slip of the tongue but twice? No way…  
  
Still, after five years and countless false starts, I should have known better than to show up here out of the blue, but I just couldn't help myself. After everything that transpired between us on Carthis, after finally coming out and saying things that I've, that we've, danced around for years, I am finding it difficult, no impossible, to return to the status quo. I've engaged in a couple pretends since, but my concentration isn't what it used to be. She's on my mind constantly. Truth be told, she was never out of my thoughts for very long even in the old days, but it has now become downright distracting.  
  
When sheer exhaustion overtakes me at the end of a long day, and I'm finally forced to close my eyes, I see her the way she looked at Ocee's: sad, a little frightened, and even a tad vulnerable, but still possessing that incredible life force. She approaches everything with such passion; I have always admired that about her even though it has made my life more than a little difficult at times. But I wouldn't really have it any other way. Sure, I've told her and Sydney to leave me alone more than once, but where would I really be if they had chosen to listen? Alone.  
  
That's why I showed up here tonight: to tell her. I came to tell her that, despite everything that's happened, I am so very grateful that it is she who chases when I run. I came to tell her that I am thankful that it is her voice on the other end of the phone in the middle of the night. I came to tell her that, despite the unpleasant circumstances, it felt right to be trapped on that island with her, the two of us working together, protecting each other. Nothing has felt so right in a very long time. And, finally, I came to tell her that, whenever I close my eyes to go to sleep, I see her undressing behind that screen at Ocee's place and it makes me want things, so many things that I wouldn't permit myself to yearn for. Until now, that is…  
  
That did it. That's when the vase came hurtling toward me. Oh well, at least I've still got my reflexes. From that point on, our encounter went pretty much as one might expect and came to a rather abrupt end shortly after she rattled off a series of expletives that maligned both my ancestry and myself. I rationally pointed out that I hadn't the slightest clue as to the identity of either my grandparents or great grandparents and, therefore, was in no position to dispute her remarks. She emitted something that might best be described as a roar, stormed upstairs, and slammed what I only assume was her bedroom door behind her.  
  
So why am I still here, perched on her back porch like an idiot, perhaps placing both my freedom and her tenuous position at the Centre in jeopardy? Because, no matter how hard I try, I can't bring myself to leave. I just can't do it anymore; I can no longer run, or even walk for that matter, away from her. We crossed a threshold on that Godforsaken island and I have no intention of crossing back over it. So, here I'll sit, all night if I have to. I know she knows I'm still here; she can feel me when I'm close-by, just like I can feel her. That's what has kept our little chase so interesting after all this time.  
  
So let her fume, suits me fine. If her porch is as close as I'm getting tonight, then I'd rather be here than anywhere else on earth. I am fairly sure I won't freeze to death; actually, I am absolutely certain. I'll just picture her behind that screen at Ocee's, remember the sensation of our hands brushing as I wrapped the blanket around her or, better yet, picture the look on her face as she leaned in to… I'll stay warm alright, downright toasty.  
  
I am jolted awake by a sound. I turn around cautiously, half expecting to face the business end of a Smith & Wesson 9mm. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time. Instead she just stands in the doorway in her pajamas, robe and slippers, her arms crossed at her chest, her forehead creased in consternation. I sigh heavily, projecting an air of weary calm despite the sensation of thousands of butterflies that have apparently been unleashed in my stomach. Suddenly, out of nowhere, comes the thought:  
  
I will tell our grandchildren about this.  
  
"You're not leaving, are you?" she asks exasperatedly.  
  
"Nope," I reply with a shrug.  
  
"Then I guess you'd better come back inside. I'm not up to explaining to Raines and Lyle how you came to be found frozen to death on my porch."  
  
Without another word, she turns and stalks back into the house, leaving the door wide-open behind her. All that remains is for me to walk through it.  
  
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End file.
